Pieces of Moonbeams

LII: gone with the wind

Of all the greatest times,
Of all the greatest wind
wrap up all the trees—striking tides
rampant all around
Joy to the echoing sound,
to the blue paper
who's never been found.

Rushes, rushes to the itchy skin,
Bruises on my scalp as I lean
Feets walking, exciting
to close the gate: overjoyed, enchanting.
Underlooked had gone the blueprint,
Dismayed on his face imprint.

He who was overwhelmed;
shocked upon his own revelation,
thus fear visoring him
Flying golden paper of the floating space
on the jaws of the wind
unaware of wary in stalks of green—
he dropped his eye, he should've seen

As his serene grace drowned in panick;
squander in his own thoughts,
to rankle in the same spot,
of he is unsure to take a shot
Oh, is it endearing to kiss you
while holding myself to hold you back?
or does your heart
know me too well to make it crack?

If only seconds don't matter
to know it all, to craft all my things ponder
Please, do not bury me
in your incense of fury,
in the pit of the dark ground,
and in the shovel holding my hands
dancing with no sound.

To the returning great wind: to the blue paper I lost,
To the plodding hope of hate on the slope,
Answer me now for I to know the cause--
Do not begrudge my failed applause
I grovel down beneath my fall--
for all my wicked fantasies to crawl.

Gone with the Wind, von f.
Jan. 22, 2023